Successful in Being a Failure
by TheAngelandtheDevil97
Summary: ***ATTEMPTED SUICIDE*** ***SELF-HARM*** Post-YJ S2: Nightwing, after being shunned by everyone, has been breaking down. No one thinks anything of it; he's a Bat, after all, they can't die. But now Dick has finally broken. Right before what might be his end, can a phone call, voicemail, and returned call save a broken hero's life?
1. Introduction - Past Memory (Dick)

*****Okay, so I wanted to make some changes to this story, basically making all of the chapters a bit longer, but beyond that not much plot wise has changed. I ended up writing this opening intro paragraph on a whim and decided to use it but beyond that, I've only made some slight edits. More details to follow in other chapters! Enjoy!**

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**This was inspired by the following stories on Ao3 where this fic is cross-posted:**

**Always Answer The Phone** by Disco_Wing.

**Hearsay** by haunt_the_stars.

**Relictus** by haunt_the_stars.

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***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION! **

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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**Inspired by Resumé (by Dorothy Parker)**

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_It happened during his second or third year as Robin. He didn't really remember and it didn't really matter now. All he knew was that any normal, average kid shouldn't have seen what he had at that age. But he had never been normal even before he'd donned spandex, a cape, and a domino mask._

_It was late spring, right before school let out for summer vacation and he hadn't been able to sit still at all during that patrol. Dick Grayson had finally gotten permission, after weeks of begging and some help from Alfred, to bring Barbara over to the Manor and he couldn't wait! He felt he was well within his right to be fidgety with excitement. His mentor apparently disagreed with him on that. Batman had been exasperated, but Robin was able to read his mentor well enough to sense well-hidden amusement. He wasn't sure if he should've felt annoyance at that or not. It didn't matter to him at the moment though. _

_Suddenly, panicked shouts coming from a few block away grabbed the vigilantes' attention away from their usual patrol route. Not needing to communicate verbally, Batman and Robin took out their grappling guns and fired them off, jumping and swinging in the direction of the noise. They quickly reached the source of the noise that was growing louder and more hysteric._

"_Miss, please step away from the edge!" Commissioner Gordon's voice was easily recognizable despite its slight distortion from the mega-phone he was shouting through._

_On the street below them, there were several police cars arranged in a semi-circle around the building across from them. Some of the officers were creating a barricade between a panicking crowd and the building. Robin could just make out the Commissioner in the jumbled chaos below pointing upward at the 45-story building across the street from Batman and himself._

_Robin felt his blood run cold._

_On the top of the building stood a young teenager who couldn't have been more that 16 years old. Her posture was loose and relaxed, blonde hair whipping around her in the wind. Before the Commissioner could say another word, before Batman or himself could move a muscle, the young teenager took a step off of the roof and fell. Robin felt himself fall to his knees, unable to move despite the frantic urging in his mind that he needed to move, he had to save her! But it was too late. Batman had tried to catch the falling teenager, but had missed by centimeters. The sickening smack of the body hitting pavement somehow managed to reach his ear drums over the screaming crowd of on-looking civilians. Everything faded into white noise as he didn't do anything but stare vacantly down at the crumpled body. Suddenly he wasn't seeing a teenage girl's broken body, blood seeping out from underneath it and staining the pavement. He was looking at the broken bodies of his parents._

_The firm grasp of a hand on his shoulder startled him. He instinctively threw a punch which Batman blocked easily. Robin felt himself fall forwards into Batman's embrace and everything went black._

_He woke up in the BatCave, confusion warring inside his mind. It didn't take long for the memories to catch up with him and suddenly he was sobbing. Careful arms wrapped around his shoulders and he found himself crying into his mentor's neck. Bruce didn't say anything, simply holding him as he waited for Dick's sobs to cease._

"_Why?" Dick croaked out after a long moment._

_Bruce, the ever-perceptive detective, didn't need him to explain his one-word question._

"_I don't know," Bruce murmured. "I don't know."_

_Bruce let Dick skip school until the end of the school year which was only 3 days. He had Dick talk with Dinah about what he'd seen which was partially successful. Dick did open up, a bit, but he couldn't tell her everything. Even if she did know Robin was really Dick Grayson, some things were just too personal for him to share. That and he didn't really have the best track record with therapists. No offense to Dinah, but he'd had less than fantastic encounters with people who worked in psychology. Scarecrow and Harley Quinn were perfect examples of that. Eventually things began to get better and his nightmares faded away once again only to be replaced by new ones filled with maniacal laughter and sadistic red-lipped grins._

_Dick didn't know what would possibly drive a person to do… to do __**that**__, but he promised himself one night after he'd woken from a nightmare where bodies hit the ground with sickening splats followed by a puddle of red, that he'd never be in that teenage girl's position._

_Years later, Dick would recollect those memories and break down into hysteric tears of desperation. _

_Technically he wasn't breaking his promise._

_He wouldn't be ending his life with a broken body and a puddle of blood staining the pavement._


	2. Part 1 - Dick

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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It was all his fault. The Team, the Justice League, his former-friends, and the BatFamily had made it quite clear that everything was his fault. He didn't disagree with them; he couldn't disagree with them, not really. He'd known it would be completely and utterly his fault since the day he'd planned it. It was his fault that Garfield, Jaime, and Bart had been kidnapped. He'd risked the lives of all his teammates while lying to their faces every day, including Tim and Barbara. He knew it was his fault, even if Wally hadn't actually died. It was all his fault.

That didn't mean it hurt any less.

Dick closed his eyes, pushing away any lingering tears. The once scalding water was now icy cold but he couldn't find himself to care. Honestly, he wasn't sure how long he'd been underneath the pounding water of the shower. Probably too long. He didn't think it really mattered. No one cared. Not anymore.

He didn't even care anymore. There was no point in caring when he was always hurting.

The weight on his chest had only gotten heavier and the shower had failed to wash away his pain. Dick moved to shut off the water before he sluggishly stumbled out of the shower to dry off. As he tied a fraying towel around his waist, he looked into the unusually pristine mirror that hung above the sink.

It was like looking into the face of a stranger. He looked like a skeleton; cheekbones more pronounced, ribs and collarbone sticking out from beneath his skin. Dark circles made his eyes look like they were sunken into his skull, the once sparkling blue eyes were now pieces of shattered glass that no one would care about if they bothered to look him in the eyes at all. He knew he didn't deserve to be looked in the eyes.

Dick tried to avoid looking at his arms, but his eyes were drawn there by habit. Or maybe because he deserved the glaring reminder of what a fuck-up he truly was. The precise red lines started at his elbows, marching down his forearms until they reached his wrists. They stuck out against his pale skin, still fresh from their appearance a mere hour ago. They weren't deep enough to need stitches, but they weren't paper cuts either. Not that it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

Jerking his head away from the mirror Dick wandered into his bedroom, haphazardly throwing on old jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grabbed a small bottle from on top of his dresser, before sitting cross-legged on the middle of his bare mattress and going over his "To-Do" list.

He'd canceled his mail.

He'd taken a week off from work.

He'd cleaned up his apartment, everything neatly packed into cardboard boxes, stacked up against a wall in the living room.

He'd kept his favorite pair of civilian clothing (a Nightwing t-shirt he'd bought to spite Bruce after a particularly bad fight and comfortable yoga pants) carefully folded atop his empty dresser.

He'd left a briefcase full of supplies for his "night job" locked on the kitchen table.

He'd left his suit folded up in a second briefcase next to the first one, a letter written on crisp stationery on top of it with instructions on how to open it (only a fellow vigilante or superhero would understand those instructions).

He'd written his will, or more accurately his last wishes as it wasn't a legally filed will. Everything would go to Tim (even though he hated Dick, he was still his little brother) except a promise ring he'd intended to give to Barbara and a Calculus II textbook he'd forgotten to give back to her. He requested that they bury him next to his parents and Jason and would leave Black-Eyed Susans, Asters, and Lilacs on his grave. Black-Eyed Susans to represent his commitment to justice; Asters as a stupid reminder of his "butchering of the English language" as Jason had called it; Lilacs because they were his mother's favorite flowers.

He'd left his final letters; one for the League, one of the Team, one for Tim, one for Wally, one for Barbara, one for Alfred, and one for Bruce. They were all written on the same crisp stationery he'd used earlier, penned in the rarely used fountain pen that was gifted to him by Bruce on his 18th birthday.

It was time.

He'd grabbed his only friend and his only link to the family who'd all but disowned him. Not that he blamed them for doing so. His only friend glinted duly in the bleak room, a speck of light in his otherwise dark world, sitting on his bedside table. Reaching over, he rested the blade on his knee, before stretching down to the floor to grab for his charging cell with trembling hands.

It was time.

He pressed speed-dial #8, and half-heartedly hoped for… something. Dick wasn't really sure if it would be better if his contact answered the call or ignored it.

He closed his eyes and waited.

…

_Hi, you've reached the voicemail for Wally West! Depending on who this is, I may or may not be sorry I missed your call. If I like you, or if you'll give me money, please leave a message!_

***Beep***

_Uh, hi Wally... I'm guessing you're probably ignoring this call… and this voicemail, but… well, I totally understand why you'd do that. I deserve it honestly. Um, I know I probably have no right to call you at all really; I completely fucked up your life. What am I saying… I don't have the right to call you, but… I just, I just needed to tell someone about, well, something, and I figured I should probably tell you, because… I don't know why exactly; you're the first person I thought of. _

_I should be begging you for forgiveness, but I... I don't deserve to be forgiven. I would be begging for forgiveness but because I don't deserve it, I'll save my breath and won't do that. I've fucked up so many people's lives in so many ways… there's nothing I can do to change that. This is the only way I can try to make up for what I've done. I figured that my last note, well, last call, should be to you. That's selfish of me really, but I figured that if I'm, um, going away, that I can make one more bad decision; I've made plenty of those already, so what's one more? Maybe it's my last bad decision, but… well, I never truly got rid of my impulsive streak..._

_If calling you was a mistake, well, at least it's one that won't endanger anyone else's life, right? I mean, since I'm... going... it will make everyone's life better, so I guess that's something. This is the least I can do after everything I've done. Um, I... I should stop bothering you. I should stop bothering everyone. Me being around isn't making anyone happy so I'm, um, leaving. That way I can stop hurting people, right? I know you guys will be better off without me around to screw up, so, um... here's something that will be better for you guys. I mean, a world without Nightwing, Dick Grayson, whoever, is better off than a world with them. _

_And I, well I hate to ask, but could you, um, could you look after Tim? I, I haven't spoken to him, or Bruce, or Barbara, or, or anyone really, for, um a long time. Barbara can take care of herself and I don't want to insult her by asking you or her to keep an eye on her. But, well… the Bats have already lost one Robin and I don't think B can afford to lose another. I don't know how Tim's doing since we haven't talked, but if you could look after him, that'd, well, that would be my last wish. That's what people get when, um, when they die, so, um, could you do that? Please? I think that's it, so I'll stop wasting your time. I know, this means nothing to you, but I hope you'll be happy now. I hope everyone will be happier now. I guess that's it… Yeah… Just, I'm sorry Wally, I'm so, so sorry…_

***Click***

….

Dick let out a shaky breath as he dropped his cell phone in front of him. He felt the slow stream of saltwater drop from his eyes, despite his attempts to blink them away. He couldn't help it. He was scared. People may think that Batman's proteges were seemingly invulnerable as he was, Dick was only human. But he knew this was for the best; he knew that his death would make the others happy, but that didn't make it any scarier.

Death was different.

Sure, he'd come close to dying a handful of times. You couldn't be a vigilante or a superhero and not have a few brushes with death. Hell, his first brush with death happened during his early years as Robin, courtesy of Two-Face and Joker was always more than happy to try and off him.

But this was different.

Dick shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. It was his time. He owed it to everyone for what he'd done.

The usual euphoric numbness engulfed his very being as the sharp blade cut into his scarred and scabbed flesh, new droplets of blood forming as it hit untouched skin and ripped off the scabs from old marks. The sting brought the familiar feeling of comfort that he was happily and unabashedly addicted to.

Nobody cared about him. Nobody should care about him. He was a screw up who couldn't do anything right.

He should've died with his family.

Dick's arms were a mess of bloody marks; there were so many that it looked like he'd painted his arms red. But it wasn't enough. Slowly, Dick folded back the hems of his jeans to his knees. He made careful, deeply precise words on each ankle; words that everyone knew he was.

_**FAILURE**_

_**TRAITOR**_

The words hurt. They cut into his soul just as easily as his only remaining best friend cut into his own flesh.

Examining his final work, he wiped off his blade on the hem of his t-shirt before laying back onto the bedside table.

Dick was reaching for the bottle, preparing himself to press on both sides of the cap to open it. The quiet "click" echoed in the deathly silent room, indicating the bottle was opened. Tilting the bottle, Dick carefully shook out 3 innocently white pills into the palm of his hand. He popped them in his mouth and swallowed them down dry with practiced ease.

He was about to shake out more pills when the sound of someone breaking down his door crashed into his eardrums. Before he could finish what he'd been planning, frantic footsteps reached his bedroom and the door was flung open, slamming into the wall with what felt like enough force to shake the room.

Dick's red-rimmed eyes widened, as they met familiar jade green eyes that were filled with horror.

"...Wally?"

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To be continued…


	3. Part 2 - Wally

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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As he walked into his house after an exhausting day, Wally West could easily admit to himself that he was tired. Catching up on school work by redoing his college classes over the summer wasn't what he'd ideally be doing. But being gone and thought dead for a few months made this hellish day a necessity. He'd rather be spending time with Artemis, who'd barely let him out of her sight since he'd returned, or the Team or Uncle Barry but none of those options were available.

Artemis needed to spend some time with her mom after her supposed "death", the Team were all on missions saving the world in one way or another, and Uncle Barry was frantically trying to finish some work that he'd forgotten about (even with superspeed, it would take him all night to complete all of it). Well, that left Di-. Wally shook his head to rid it of that line of thought. Nightwing had done enough to him. He was moving on from him. Wally ignored the voice in the back of his head that said Nightwing's plan had saved the world and that it was his own decision that had gotten him "killed". It was getting easier to ignore that voice in the back of his head that prodded him to contact Nightwing.

Flopping down on the couch in the living room, he tossed his cell phone on the coffee table with a clatter and dropped his backpack down to the floor beside the couch. The pangs of hunger reminded him that he couldn't lounge around just yet. Groaning, he heaved himself up and made his way to the well-stocked fridge. Passing out from hunger wasn't very helpful in finishing his molecular science homework. As he perused the fridge, the faint sound of his cell vibrating caught his attention. Food first; whoever was calling could wait a few minutes for him to make a PB&J sandwich. Or 20 sandwiches. Maybe more.

5 loaves of bread, 4 jars of jam, 3 jars of peanut butter, 2 glasses of milk and 1 plate of cookies later, Wally was confident that he wouldn't pass out.

He lazily grabbed his phone, unlocking it to see who'd called him and if they'd left a message. Wally felt his eyes widen at the familiar name.

Dick Grayson.

Scowling, his thumb hovered over the voicemail, considering his options. He could simply swipe left on the message, erasing it without ever opening it and going on with the rest of his evening.

Or he could listen.

He was tempted to follow through on his first option, but he squeezed his eyes shut. Wally cursed internally, at himself, at the world, at Dick-fucking-Grayson, at Nightwing. Fuck it was so tempting to keep ignoring the voice in the back of his head that told him to go talk to Nighting. He'd been doing so well at avoiding Nightwing after he'd come back from being not-dead. But, well, fuck… Even after all Nightwing had done to the Team, to his friends, to his family, to _him_, Wally felt his own curiosity and old habits guide his actions to listen to the voicemail. His thumb tapped the message, putting his cell on speaker-phone as he laid it back onto the table, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of his pursed lips.

_Uh, hi Wally... I'm guessing you're probably ignoring this call… and this voicemail, but… well, I totally understand why you'd do that. I deserve it honestly. Um, I know I probably have no right to call you at all really; I completely fucked up your life. What am I saying… I don't have the right to call you, but… I just, I just needed to tell someone about, well, something, and I figured I should probably tell you, because… I don't know why exactly; you're the first person I thought of. _

As Wally listened, he felt a knot of fear and terror grow in his chest. His eye grew wider, his body froze, unable to move as Night-_Dick's_ voice came through the phone's low-quality speaker. The pain, the resignation, and, worst of all, the fear in Dick's voice painted a chilling picture.

Was Wally angry with Dick? Yes.

Did Wally want Dick dead? Was he angry enough at Dick to want him dead? Had he ever truly wanted Dick dead?

Fuck no.

The click signaling the end of the voicemail jolted Wally into action. He shoved his shoes back on, stumbled towards the front door and yanked it open. Wally slammed it shut, not bothering to lock it, before sprinting off towards the nearest Zeta-Beam, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't be late.

For one of the first times since he first became Kid Flash and Uncle Barry had taken him in as a protege, Wally was practically tripping over his feet as he exited the Zeta-Beam in Blüdhaven. His eyes were wide with panic, frantically scanning his surroundings, before running towards Dick's apartment. Then he felt himself choke up in panic; did Dick even live in the same apartment? What if he had moved? What if he wasn't even in his apartment? What if he wasn't even in Blüdhaven?

Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he pushed himself to go even faster, the dirty streets flashing by. He couldn't afford any "what if" questions right now; he needed to get to Dick and fast. It was most likely that Dick was in Blüdhaven; it was his city after all and Wally didn't know where else he should look in his panic-stricken state of mind.

Finding Dick's apartment, he shoved open the door, slowing down to a normal human sprint towards the staircase, before speeding up to the 5th floor. What was the number? His mind pulled up blank as he frantically searched his memory for an answer. 5 something… Then it hit him. 5-B, for Bats. Years ago when Dick had first moved in, he'd joked with Wally about how the apartment was made for him.

He scrambled his way towards the door, jerking the doorknob, which… refused to move.

"_Fuck!_" Wally didn't even bother to quiet his voice; Dick might already be dead.

He kicked the door open, anger and guilt plaguing him at his inability to vibrate through solid objects. Wally turned towards the hallway that led to Dick's bedroom, not even pausing as he flung the bedroom door open….

Then he could've sworn that his heart stopped beating as the air surrounding him seemed to have vanished.

There was Richard "Dick" Grayson, the first Robin, the first protege to a hero, now the vigilante Nightwing, not even 20 years old, the last Flying Grayson. There he was, red-rimmed eyes with dark circles underneath them. There he was, body frozen in place with an opened medicine bottle in one hand, about to be tipped forward to spill pills into his open palm. There he was, looking like a skeleton. There he was, arms dripping with blood, a blade that faintly glinted was on his bedside table.

There was Dick Grayson, his best friend, his brother who he'd failed, who was seconds away from committing suicide.

And there they both were, frozen in place with eyes filled with horror.


	4. Part 3 - Dick

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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Dick was pretty sure someone had frozen time. It wasn't as if that was out of the range of possibilities; in his former line of work, he'd found that almost anything was possible. But he couldn't concentrate on that stray thought. Instead, he could only sit there, gaping at Wally who was a mirror image of his face that moment.

"...Wally?" Dick choked out his once-best-friend's name. After all, he'd done to the speedster he couldn't call him a friend anymore; Dick knew he'd already screwed up Wally's life.

He'd screwed up so many people's lives by just living. So… why was he here? Yes, Dick had left him a voicemail, but he never thought, never believed in his wildest dreams, Wally would have time to call back before his death, let alone listen to the voicemail at all. But here Wally was, practically falling into his apartment and gaping at him. He hadn't thought Wally would care even if he'd listened to the voicemail. He hadn't thought anyone would've gone to the funeral at all.

And then Wally was charging at him. Before Dick could properly panic or escape, expecting a punch or a beating, the speedster had yanked the pill bottle out of his hands and chucked it into the far corner of the room. Pills scattered around the room like flurries of snow but hitting the floor with the sound of gunshots. Dick could feel himself start to hyperventilate as Wally lunged towards him, waiting for the throbbing pain left behind by a good punch.

But he didn't get punched. He wasn't getting punched. Why wasn't he getting punched? Shouldn't Wally be beating the crap out of him by now? Wally had given him a black eye, split lip, and cracked nose when he'd come back from being not-dead, so why wasn't he being beaten now? He still deserved it after all...

It took him a few seconds to realize that Wally was clinging to him, practically pulling him into his lap and shoving his face into Dick's soft, raven locks. Wally was shaking, sobs wracking his form, but Dick's brain couldn't make the connection as to why he was crying.

Dick couldn't move his body; he wasn't sure what he'd actually do if he could move. Wally was hugging the life out of him, completely oblivious to Dick's blood that was staining his clothing. Should he scramble out of Wally's grasp and try to run, knowing that it would be a futile effort anyway? Should he tackle Wally, returning hug? Do nothing? Then, he slowly heard Wally speak through his sobs.

"I'm so so sorry Dickie! Fuck this is all our fault, all MY fault… You-fuck-you idiot! Fucking hell… God, you almost-! I'm sorry Dick… You almost-! If I hadn't-! Fuck, Dickie! Dickie, Dickie, Dickie…" Wally just kept repeating his nickname, one he hadn't heard since he was 15.

Tentatively, he wrapped two careful arms around the speedster, figuring that Wally would pull away in disgust once he registered just how bloody Dick's arms were when they touched his back. Or that Dick was touching him at all really. It wasn't anything like the bone-crushing hug Wally was giving him, but it was enough of one that Wally could feel it. If anything, Wally's sobs increased in volume at Dick's touch. Mentally, Dick was reeling in shock. Questions swarmed around in his head the longer Wally held him: What was happening? Why was Wally here? Did I actually die?

If this is what happened when you died, Dick thought, I should have done this weeks ago.

Maybe he was in shock. It sort of felt like he was.

The numb feeling in his body and the feeling of cotton-balls stuffed into his head made everything seem distant, as if he was watching a movie instead of actually feeling Wally's tears drop onto his head.

He just stayed silent, waiting to see what would happen once Wally stopped crying. He couldn't really understand Wally's semi-coherent, semi-noncoherent speed-spoken words that were being sobbed into his shoulder. The once clear words had dissolved into incoherent muttering. Hell, Wally could be speaking another language for all he knew. But fucking hell it felt good to feel like someone actually cared for once, even if he was a fuck-up who didn't deserve it.

Wally should blame Dick, and he thought that Wally did blame him. That's what he'd screamed at him last time they'd seen each other. That's why he got the black eye, split lip, and cracked nose. The voicemail shouldn't have meant anything to Wally, so he knew that there was no way that it could have prompted this response. When Wally didn't seem to calm down, Dick hesitantly tried to ask him a question.

"Wally? What's-what's wrong?" Dick flinched as his voice came out hoarse and scratchy. "What did I do wrong? Did-did I hurt you again? I'm so sorry Wally! I didn't mean to hurt you."

At that, Wally jerked himself away from the hug. Dick let out a yelp at the sudden change in position and snapped his mouth shut, stopping his babble of words. He was still half-way in Wally's lap, but now Wally's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away from his upper body until Dick was at arm's length from Wally. Dick quickly dropped his chin to his chest, forcing himself to not meet Wally's eyes. He didn't think he could deal with seeing the constant rage in Wally's green eyes that he'd seen directed at him for over a year.

As he nervously traced shaky designs on his legs, Dick realized he was trembling under Wally's touch; Wally must've felt it through his hands tightened on top of Dick's shoulders. Why had Wally pulled away? Had he done something wrong again? What had he done to hurt Wally? Was he going to punch him instead of continuing to hug him? He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back tears at whatever Wally might do next. Dick knew he was a screw-up, so whatever had happened to Wally to make him this upset must be his fault; he didn't even know what he'd done wrong, but he was sure he'd done something wrong, beyond existing that is. He'd been told so many times that he shouldn't have ever existed.

"...Dick? Could-could you look at me? Please?"


	5. Part 4 - Wally

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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Wally felt like he'd been sucker punched by a Kryptonian. It was truly a sign of how fucked up the situation was if Wally had become something that scared Dick. This was Dick Grayson, the first Robin, now Nightwing, who had been tortured by Two-Face, the Joker, and so many other villains, lunatics of Gotham or otherwise. He'd been one of the main reasons the original Team had been able to defeat the mind-controlled Justice League and had helped save the world several times over. Now he was shaking in fear of Wally, someone who had once held the younger when he was crying from nightmares produced from those psychopaths and monsters when Batman wasn't available.

What was worse was that Dick was still concerned for Wally presumably due to his rather emotional entrance and reaction. When he pushed Dick off of him to put him at arm's length with the hope of looking him in the face, his stomach dropped. Dick was avoiding his gaze, attempting to shrink backward and away from Wally. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stuttered a question to Dick.

"...Dick? Could-could you look at me? Please?"

Dick tensed, his attempts at curling in on himself becoming more apparent. Wally held his breath, lightened his grip on Dick's shoulders and waited.

It could've been centuries or seconds later, but eventually Dick timidly lifted his chin, eyes scrunched together as he bit his lower lip. Taking in a gulp of air, Dick's eyes snapped open.

Wally held in a gasp, though his slight recoil was felt by Dick, who tensed but made no attempt to move from his new position. Dick's eyes had always been a bright cerulean blue that shimmered with light when he laughed but spat sparks when enraged. Now, his eyes were a murky navy blue, clouded with fear and exhaustion. They were the eyes of a broken man, not the ever cheerful and energetic young man that Wally had known for years. Wally felt the now familiar stab of pain, but a wave of panic soon slammed into him. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever stop feeling the pain that swept through him as Dick revealed more of his hurt, the pain he was suffering from, and Wally's failures that contributed to Dick's current state.

"... Yeah?"

Dick's voice was barely a whisper. If Wally hadn't been as intensely focused as he was, he wouldn't have heard the questioning response.

Taking a shaky breath, Wally forced himself to talk at a normal pace (if not slower) and attempted to repress his jumbled panicked tone from before.

"I-I'm so, so sorry Dickie. Fuck, you scared the shit out of me; well, you're still scaring me, technically… God, Dick you..."

"I'm-" Dick, mumbled, cutting Wally off before he could continue, his eyes flickering away from Wally's gaze. "I'm sorry Wally."

At hearing Dick apologize for scaring him, Wally dipped his head down, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back tears. Wally knew Dick wasn't apologizing for almost killing himself, but for any hurt he might've caused. How far had Dick Grayson fallen? When he was reasonably sure he wasn't about to burst into tears, he slowly opened his eyes, and froze. He felt his eyes grow wide, almost popping out of their sockets as he took in the sight before him.

Wally knew that seeing Dick's arms covered in blood from the deliberately made marks, thanks to the razor lying guiltily nearby, was not the moment he realized how fucked up things were. That realization had occurred the moment he'd started listening to the voicemail. But seeing the physical evidence of just how far Dick had fallen, right in front of his face, made the fear and guilt turn to ice that spread throughout his body. Oh, he could still feel his fear and guilt, but the sensation of his blood turning to ice overwhelmed and muffled any other emotions.

What would've happened if he'd been even 5 minutes too late? Would he even be having this conversation with Dick or would he be calling an ambulance. Would he have needed to call Bruce and tell him that his eldest son (even if not on paper) had committed suicide? Would he have been calling Bruce to tell him that he lost another son, but this time it wasn't the Joker's fault? Would he have been alerting that Justice League, the Team, Artemis, the other people who'd hurt Dick that Dick was dead? Would he have been standing next to John and Mary Grayson's graves, watching their son be buried before he could legally drink? Would he even have cared enough to go if he hadn't been the one to find Dick like this if he had never listened to that voicemail?

By God, what had they done?

What had he done?

"Oh Dick," Wally choked out, feeling and sounding as if someone was strangling him. "You don't need to apologize… Fuck, what've you done? What've I done?"

"I deserve it."

Wally wasn't sure what was worse; Dick's words, the dull monotone he spoke in, or the sincere belief that could be heard behind the flat tone.

"No, you don't," Wally tried to speak firmly, tried to convey how wrong Dick was, but he was sure he failed at that. He was too shaken for everything that'd happened and was happening. He was barely holding it together after he'd already lost it. Maybe he had never pulled himself together at all.

Dick was quiet, biting his dry, cracked lip between his teeth, now looking anywhere but Wally or the bloody mess that were his arms.

"We should clean those up," Wally whispered. He had to do something to try and fix this, and right then, that was all he could think of doing. Wally couldn't see his best friend (could he even call Dick his best friend now? Some best friend he'd turned out to be) commit suicide right in front of his face.

"No."

That one word was the first one Dick had spoken firmly and with full confidence since he'd entered the apartment. Since before the voicemail. Since before he could remember.

And that might've been what terrified Wally the most.


	6. Part 5 - Dick

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

**_\\\\\\.../_**

Dick felt his heart rate pick up as his breathing became labored. Didn't Wally get it? He and the others had told him as much over and over and over again; they were right, he was a screw up, someone who deserved to be punished. But he needed it; Dick desperately wanted that feeling of numb euphoria that was his punishment and savior. It plagued him with guilt but the positives outweighed the heavy lump that had settled in his stomach.

"What? Dick, we need to stop the bleeding! Like, right now dude!"

Wally sounded slightly hysterical, and Dick couldn't help but feel a mix of guilt and confusion. He wasn't even bleeding that badly, Wally knew Dick had suffered from worse injuries before, and there wasn't much of a point in fixing him up now. For the life of him (and the morbid humor in that statement was ridiculous) he didn't understand why Wally was sounding like he cared. Wally didn't care; he'd told that to Dick numerous times. But, it sounded like Wally did care… maybe…? Dick slammed the thought of Wally actually feeling anything for him beyond disgust away. No one cared about him anymore.

"No, we don't." Dick found his voice was disconcertingly steady, an edge of finality and stubborn confidence that he had been abandoned long ago. "I failed Wally. I deserve it."

As Dick looked up, Wally's face filled with horror once again. Dick pushed himself out and away from his reach, eyeing Wally carefully as he stopped and crossed his arms, standing a few feet from his bed and inches away from the shiny piece of metal. If Wally's now panicked and horror filled face was any indication, he didn't miss the implication of Dick's words or his close proximity to the blade.

Before he could reach for the blade, not caring if Wally tried to stop him (Dick knew what he needed to do and he wouldn't let Wally stop him), Wally frantically scrambled off of the bed.

Time stopped.

Again.

One second he was inches from the blade.

Now he was slammed into the far wall, Wally pinning his shoulders against it.

Dick was shocked for second, and before he could fully regain his senses, Wally was yelling. Still dazed from the unanticipated movement, Dick dazedly made out what Wally was saying.

"...wrong with you? What do you mean you deserve this?"

The anger, pain, and pure emotion that Dick had been holding back for so long burst from his lips before Wally could continue his rant. If Wally was asking him, Dick figured he might as well take advantage of it while he still could. While he was still alive and able to do so.

"Of course I deserve this! Fuck, I failed the Team, I failed you and Artemis, hell I failed my own family! You've made that quite clear; as if I didn't already know. I almost got everyone killed. Several times! Hell, that's a fucking understatement! Everyone has been telling me that every time I turn around!"

Wally paled, opened his mouth as if to say something, but Dick couldn't stop the words that spilled out of his mouth.

"Even Bruce has made it abundantly clear that I've fucked up! So has Tim and Babs, so I get the fucking message already. So yeah, I've gotten the fucking message! You want me fucking gone, so just let me do something good for all of us and I'll just leave you! That way you, and the Team, and Artemis, and Bruce, and Tim and Babs will be happy and I'll be with my parents again. So just fucking let me go!" Dick's words were spat out at the rate of machine gun fire but he couldn't find it in himself to care. His words were the truth after all.

By the end of his rant, Dick was struggling again. To his surprise, he was somehow managing to squirm out of Wally's grasp and make another lunge for the blade. Wally's reflexes kicked in a split second before Dick could wrap his hand around the blade, smacking it away from Dick and underneath the bed. The two rolled around on the floor, a morbid imitation of the mock wrestling they'd done when they were younger.

Dick absentmindedly noticing the blood stains his arms and ankles were leaving on the ground, thinking that whoever would live here next would have to deal with the bloodstains. He couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for them. Getting out blood stains were a huge pain in the ass. Somehow Wally eventually managed to pull Dick back into his lap, hugging him to his chest. Dick froze again; what was Wally thinking, putting himself so close to Dick again? He couldn't suppress any more of his trembling as the adrenaline wore off. Shaking with silent sobs, he curled into a ball and prepared himself, certain that Wally would come to his senses any moment and leave Dick alone. He couldn't help it.

He just froze, sitting completely still once again in Wally's lap. This time he didn't bother to try and hug back. He didn't have the energy and even if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to bring himself to indulge in that luxury.

It could have been minutes, hours, days, weeks or even years, but finally Wally's voice, tight with some emotion Dick couldn't be bothered to identify, dragged him back into the cold darkness of reality.

"No, I'm not letting you go!"

What the fuck?


	7. Part 6 - Wally

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

**_\\\\\\.../_**

"No, I'm not letting you go," Wally said, voice hoarse and choked with emotion. "I already did that and it ended with you almost dead. Fuck Dick, yeah, I was mad at you, but I never wanted you dead!"

Dick sniffled but didn't say anything, though Wally could tell he was listening to every word he was saying. Honestly Wally wasn't really thinking about what he was saying; the words spilled from his lips like water from a waterfall.

"God, we, I, really fucked up Dick. What you did saved the world and everyone has treated you like shit for doing that… Hell, you saved me from the speedforce and I didn't even thank you for saving my sorry ass, huh? Fucking hell, I'm an asshole. God I'm sorry Dickie. I'm so so sorry."

"...Dickie?" Dick asked hesitantly, confusion easily heard in his voice and seen on his face.

Wally looked at Dick with a sheepish and embarrassed expression. "Um, I know you were kinda over the name but it just kinda, uh, slipped out?" His voice went up a few octaves, feeling self-conscious. He knew Dick had stopped using that nickname years ago; no one had probably used it since he became Nightwing. He'd said in several times earlier, but this was the first time Dick was anywhere near coherent enough to notice his word choice. Fuck, what did it say that Dick had been so out of it he didn't notice Wally's use of his old nickname that came from his parents?

"Is, is that ok?" Wally asked tentatively.

Dick looked like he wasn't sure which way was up anymore. "Uh," Dick stuttered out. "Yeah, but, I mean, why?"

Wally felt his heart break all over again. Dammit, he felt like punching himself for being such an asshole. Or maybe a swift kick to the balls? Yeah, he'd probably deserve that...

"Because," Wally swallowed, closing his eyes to hold back tears before he began again. "Because I was an idiot Dickie. I was a fucking stupid idiot who was scared and took it out on someone who is my best friend, practically my brother, instead of dealing with it like an adult. I was so caught up in Artemis being in danger I forgot about how much danger and stress you were dealing with and that was wrong. That was so fucking wrong. That is so fucking wrong. God I'm so sorry Dickie. I'm so so sorry."

Dick was quiet for a moment, before weakly saying "You said "someone who is my best friend"..."

Wally flinched. "Um, if you still want to be I mean. I'd understand if you want nothing to do with me - "

"NO!" Dick cut him off frantically, eyes pleading with Wally. "No, I, I want to be your friend. I mean, I know I don't deserve you as a friend but," Dick licked his lips, "but I want to be your friend…"

Dick trailed off as Wally stared at him incredulously.

There was a moment of silence where Wally was desperately trying to say something. It wasn't until he saw Dick curling back up into a ball that he could get the words out.

"I don't deserve you. The world doesn't fucking deserve you," Wally gasped out. Wally almost snorted at that rather epic understatement.

Dick uncurled slightly and shot Wally a skeptical look. Wally's heart hurt at that look and pulled Dick in for another hug; it reassured him that Dick was alive and he couldn't see Dick's disbelief when his head was resting on Wally's shoulder. This time, to Wally's relief, Dick hugged back. If he wasn't already so wrung out from crying, he would've started to cry again. Damn he didn't think he'd cried this much when he'd come back from being not-dead, and that was really saying something about how fucked up the situation was.

Slowly, Wally pulled out of the hug and turned so he could look Dick straight in the eyes.

"Can we please clean these up now?" Wally pleaded, holding his breath as Dick obviously considered his options.

When Dick nodded his agreement, Wally felt the fist that clenched his heart loosen just a tiny bit.

"First aid kit in the bathroom?" Wally asked quietly. Dick nodded.

Wally, not willing to leave Dick alone, stood up before reaching down and helping Dick to his feet. They slowly trudged over to Dick's bathroom, Wally taking most of the bedraggled bird's weight. He was way too light. Despite his muscle, Dick had never been particularly heavy, but Wally felt as if he could've been helping a 10 year old Dick to the bathroom instead of an almost-20 year old young adult. He was slightly surprised Dick had agreed to stand up at all, but he wasn't going to complain.

When they reached the bathroom, Wally helped Dick sit down on the closed toilet seat, before observing their surroundings. Wally had the slightly hysterical thought that Alfred would've been amazed if he'd seen the state that the bathroom was in. Dick had never been the neatest person and when he'd lived in Wayne Manor, Wally found that it was usually a state of chaos unless Alfred had his say in the matter. He distantly realized that the bathroom was like the rest of the apartment; spotlessly clean. The implication that Dick had cleaned everything in preparation of his death made his stomach churn.

The mental image of a dirty bathroom with bloody handprints on the shower wall and all over the sink flashed through his brain. They must've been bloody at some point if the sheer number of cuts on Dick's arms were any indication. Wally found himself staring blankly at the shower wall for a moment, easily imagining a blood covered bathroom instead of the sparkling white one he stood in.

With tremendous effort, Wally tore his eyes off of the imaginary bloody marks and back to the mission of finding Dick's first aid kit.

Finally finding it under the sink, he dragged it out, the hard plastic of the case clattering loudly on the tile floor. With slightly shaking hands, he opened the kit, easily finding the hydrogen peroxide to act as a disinfectant along with Neosporin to prevent any infections. An infection was the last thing Dick needed right now, Wally thought to himself. Next he brought out gauze and cotton balls along with a few q-tips. He wasn't sure what Dick used to clean up after self-harming, so he went with what he knew.

He almost dropped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide at that thought; Dick had gone through this routine before, or so he assumed. How many times had Dick gone through this routine? Had Dick always cleaned up in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet like he was now? Did Dick even clean up after slashing open the skin on his arms in the bathroom or would he do it somewhere else in the apartment? The kitchen? His bedroom? Wally wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to his mental questions. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the mental images his brain had not-so-kindly conjured up for him, before steeling his nerves and turning back to the matter at hand.

Wally gently grabbed Dick's right forearm as he kneeled in front of him to begin his work. He murmured softly apologies as the hydrogen peroxide cleaned the cuts, white bubbles emerging from the wounds as he carefully wiped down Dick's entire forearm. He was surprised at first when Dick didn't even flinch beyond the first contact of Wally gently touching him, before Wally felt like an idiot for being surprised at all. Dick had always had a high pain tolerance and it wasn't like the physical abuse he'd given Dick was going to go away after a few hugs.

After finishing with the Neosporin on the right forearm, he moved on to the left, carefully repeating the same process. Turning back to the right forearm, Wally cautiously rubbed Neosporin onto the cuts. Just because Dick had a high pain tolerance didn't mean he didn't feel pain; Wally hoped that the painkiller in the Neosporin might provide Dick with even a miniscule amount of relief. Before moving on to the left arm, Wally decided to wrap up and bandage the right one. He slowly wrapped the gauze around Dick's arm, occasionally stopping to look up at Dick to see if he was reacting in any way beyond being frozen.

But Dick remained quiet as Wally finished up the right arm, securing the bandage, and moved onto the left arm. Wally repeated the motions in the same gentle but methodical way he had cleaned and bandaged the right arm.

Once he was satisfied with his work, Wally made to stand up, before he froze and knelt back down again.

"Dick?" Wally's voice was strangled. "What's that on your ankles?" He'd been so absorbed with the blood on Dick's arms, he'd never noticed the blood stains on the hem of Dick's pants.


	8. Part 7 - Dick

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

**_\\\\\\.../_**

Dick froze. With everything that had been going on, he'd forgotten about his ankles. Dazedly he thought to himself that he shouldn't really be surprised. Ever since his "bad habit" had become a regular occurrence, the marks on his arms were always the first thing he took care of. They were the most easily visible places as most people didn't focus on his ankles; both his day and night jobs covered his ankles with socks or kevlar-spandex suits. He should've known it would backfire on him somehow…

Dick opened his mouth, closed it, before opening it again, desperately trying to force the words out of his mouth.

"Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?" Dick rasped, trying to inject some humor into the situation that was rapidly spiraling out of his control.

Wally gave him a look that screamed "are you serious?" that made Dick gulp and shrink in on himself subconsciously and look away. Dick absentmindedly noted that Wally's eyes had widened at his movement, but that thought was quickly dismissed so that he could focus on not panicking. Anymore than he already was at least.

"Dick, please," Wally said, voice soft and gentle in a way Dick hadn't heard from the redhead in years.

Carefully, Dick weighed his options.

He really just wanted to run and get out of his apartment. He didn't want to be in this situation at all. He didn't want to hear Wally's words that were obviously untrue. It hurt far too much and he'd started this whole thing to get away from that hurt. But the idea of outrunning a speedster almost made him laugh; if he was in better shape, he might've been able to hide from a speedster (Bludhaven was his city after all) but he doubted he could do that at the moment.

Breath rattling and hands shaking, Dick reached down towards the hems of his pants, slowly rolling them up to his knees. Feeling rather numb, he was suddenly grateful that the blood had been smeared around so that the individual cuts and words were indecipherable. Maybe Wally wouldn't notice what the words were, he thought desperately.

He held back a snort. Yeah right, and Lex Luthor would grow his hair long enough to make a man-bun and turn himself in for all of the crimes he'd ever committed.

Dick focused his gaze on his knees, suddenly finding them fascinating and might actually contain the solutions to all of the world's problems. Or maybe not…

The sharp intake of breath signaled that Wally had indeed been able to read the red letters carved into his ankles.

"Dick…" Wally breathed out, voice a bit choked.

Dick tensed but didn't say anything; he wasn't sure what he would say if he could speak through the tears he tried to choke back. Maybe if he'd hid them, Wally wouldn't sound like this. Maybe Wally would've stayed if he'd hidden those all-to-true words better. And he was sure that Wally would leave at any moment. Those truth-telling words would surely remind Wally of how big of a failure he really was.

"Fuck Dick…" Wally's voice startled Dick. He felt his eyes widen; Wally was still there.

"Sorry," Dick mumbled, knuckled white as he grabbed onto his knees.

"Dick? Look at me?"

After a long moment, Dick gathering any and all courage he could scrape together, he met Wally's intense gaze. Wally carefully took Dick's hands in his own, squeezing them gently, grounding him in the moment.

"Don't apologize Dick. Don't you fucking dare apologize for anything. We're the ones… I am the one who should be, and is, so very fucking sorry." For the first time since Wally had burst into his apartment, his voice was steady, unwavering in its firm tone. "Was I mad at you for what happened with Artemis, with all of the plotting and planning and secrets? Yeah, I was. But I was also an idiot about it. I completely ignored what you were going through and what you had to deal with. I know you care about Artemis too and I was too angry and scared about everything to think clearly. Instead I just pushed it onto you and you didn't deserve that. You don't deserve that."

Wally took a deep breath, giving Dick's hands another squeeze.

"Even when I was an ass, I never wanted you dead. I'd never want you dead, no matter how mad I could ever be I'd never want to attend your funeral. The last thing I'd ever want to see would be your tombstone Dickie… And you're not a failure or a traitor. You're a fucking genius and a hero whose plan saved the whole world and everyone on it. You've always been a hero Dickie, no matter what anyone says, ok?"

Dick was quiet, taking in Wally's words and rolling them around inside his head. He couldn't force any words out so he simply nodded his out. It was more of a reflex than it was in agreement but it seemed to satisfy Wally for the moment.

"Okay, can I clean those up now?" Wally asked, gesturing to his ankles.

"Yeah," Dick finally mumbled.

He was still dazed and he half thought he'd died and gone to heaven except he knew Wally wasn't dead and he didn't deserve to go to heaven. He might not be a complete screw-up, if what Wally said was true, but he was no angel either.

The bite of the hydrogen peroxide on his right ankle brought his attention firmly back to Wally, and the words that kept spilling from his lips that sounded far too good to be true.

*****Author's Note: **

Okay, so not many changes were made, but I wanted to clean some stuff up and try to make some of the chapters longer. The goal is for each chapter to be at least 1000 words, but some may be a little less and hopefully most chapters will be longer. I truly have no idea where I'm going with this for the record, but I hope you'll keep reading!

Fingers crossed my mood (and inspiration) will hold and updates will be more regular. Originally this story wasn't going to be more than 10 chapters, but you guys and your comments have inspired me to make this story longer and will go in more directions than I originally thought it would. That's all I'll say for now! :D


	9. Part 8 - Wally

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

**_\\\\\\.../_**

When Dick nodded, indicating he agreed with Wally's words, Wally bit his tongue to refrain for calling him out on his bullshit. Wally could tell that Dick didn't completely believe his words, if he believed them at all. He also wasn't naive enough to think that a few kind words and apologies would help heal the damage done to Dick's mind about himself. It still hurt to see the disbelief and wariness that lingered in his best friend's broken eyes.

And so he found himself rambling.

It was a strategy he'd pick up from Uncle Barry during his early days of being Kid Flash. Wally was a natural talker, even before he got his powers and becoming a speedster had only increased his talkative nature. With his powers, he suddenly had to be careful when talking, else the talking became speed-rambling. That would've been an embarrassing and lame way to blow his secret identity…

All speedsters could ramble without even thinking about it (which was the cause of said rambling) but when they focused, this rambling became a power in of itself. It could be used as a distraction technique. Sure, one could argue that verbal banter and the like were part and parcel of being a superhero. Even Batman, the King and Overlord of brooding, had an arsenal of banter that he used. Not a particularly nice or friendly arsenal, but he still bantered all the same though he'd be quick to deny (or glare into submission) anyone who'd make that claim.

Wally was certain that Dick probably had something to do with the Dark Knight's ability to banter in a way that wouldn't strip paint off a wall.

But Flash had shown him how to use their speed-rambling in a way to help people rather than merely confuse or annoy them. If they slowed down their speed-rambles into coherent rambles, they worked as a perfect distraction for the victims of crimes who were hurting. It didn't matter if it was a physical or mental or emotional hurt, rambling was one way they could calm someone down. The first time Flash had used it was to calm down a near-victim of a suicide bomber.

The near-victim, a teenage boy only a few years older than Kid Flash himself had been, was suffering from shock that was fading into a panic attack after finding himself the only survivor of the explosion. Kid Flash himself had been in shock at the time but he'd been aware enough to watch what his mentor had done to try and help the teenager as best he could considering the circumstances. Flash had talked to the survivor in a calm, steady tone, only touching on the situation at hand for the briefest of moments at the very end of the ramble.

Instead, Flash had picked a random topic, gardening for some reason, and rambled on about it even though he obviously knew very little about it. As the teenager's breathing had calmed down, Kid Flash had noted with alarm that his shoulders had begun to shake and was sobbing. Flash had drawn the teenager into a hug and let him cry.

He only let go when the teenager's parents had arrived at the scene, hysterical with worry and fear that their son was dead. The parents had nodded their thanks at both Flash and Kid Flash before drawing their son into an embrace of their own. After the incident, Uncle Barry had wrapped Wally in his own version of said hug.

"Sometimes you can't save everyone Wally," Uncle Barry told him that night after the incident once they'd gone home and were out of their suits. "When there's a survivor who needs help, sometimes just rambling can help. It depends on the situation and you'll learn how to read them, but if you pick a topic, even if you know nothing about it and just talk in a steady tone, you might be able to calm someone down. Occasionally you can draw them into the ramble and make it a conversation, but not always."

"Like you did earlier? But without the conversation bit?" Wally had asked, still shaken from what had happened.

Uncle Barry had nodded. "Yeah, like earlier. You can tell them that it'll all be okay, but don't make it too positive. Things can always get better, but not immediately. It will take time. Don't give them false reassurances, but try to give them hope."

It had taken Wally a while to understand what his Uncle taught him, but eventually he'd learned. He'd actually once used it when Dick was Robin years ago after waking to his best friend screaming for his parents while in the throws of a nightmare. Now, Wally prayed it would work again. As he began to disinfect the frightening words on Dick's ankles, his mind scrambled for a topic to start with.

He wanted, maybe even needed, to make Dick laugh. Even a year ago, that would be as easy as breathing, but Wally found himself scrambling to find a topic that would get Dick to laugh. Then metaphorical light-bulb lit up and he began to grin despite the situation they found themselves in.

Wally remembered an anthropology class he'd taken that looked at how different cultures approached alcohol usage. They looked at what alcohol could do in ways that did not only focus on alcoholism or alcohol abuse. The class had talked about how alcohol could be used in a productive manner and often helped played large roles in cultures. There had been one journal article in particular that had stuck out to him, if only because he thought it was a joke at first.

"Guess what I found out yesterday? NASCAR started and was founded because of bootleggers! I mean, seriously, it started because people were making and selling booze illegally! And it was moonshine - out of all the types of alcohol, they were selling moonshine. It wasn't even good alcohol! Though I'm not sure that actually matters… There's some serious irony there, that alcohol is why we have NASCAR races. Bootleggers would race their cars on dirt roads to get away or avoid the authorities and when they realized they could make money off of racing, they turned it into a sport. Amazing what moonshine can do, huh? Well, inadvertently anyways… Wait, does NASCAR actually count as a sport? Like, seriously, does it? If it does, why? That's not physical activity! Besides, it's SO SLOW!"

"Says the speedster," Dick mumbled.

Wally barely stopped himself from jerking back in shock at hearing Dick's voice. Not pausing in his work, Wally risked a quick glance up at Dick's face. There, a small smile played across the acrobat's lips. It wasn't anything close to the bright-eyed and dorky grins Dick was famous for, but it was still a smile. Dick didn't seem to be looking at anything, in particular, merely staring off into space but Wally pushed that observation to the back of his mind. One thing at a time.

"Oh, c'mon! Doesn't mean that it isn't slow! It's not like I have anything against driving; I do have my license, remember? But, like, you couldn't have NASCAR in the Olympics. That would be a freaking disaster. It would be on the same level as "animated tv shows or movies turned into live-action anything" kind of disaster," Wally continued. He'd finished with the hydrogen peroxide on one ankle and was working on rubbing Neosporin into the bloody cuts that made up the word _**Failure**_.

Wally was thankful that his rambling was distracting both Dick and himself.

"Not all sports require physical activity. E-Sports are a thing," Dick cut in. "You're not wrong about the live-action disasters though…"

Wally snorted. "Damn right I'm not! Live-Action Fullmetal Alchemist was a nightmare!"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Dramatic much?"

"What?! It WAS a nightmare! Bad enough they had to make two versions of the anime until they got it right!" Wally gasped out in mock offense. To his immense satisfaction, his over-the-top antics were paying off as he got a few chuckles of laughter from Dick.

It wasn't anything near to Dick's usual laughter and smile that would light up the room. But they were far better than the sobs that had wracked Dick's body earlier. Wally would take what he could get.

He would take whatever he could get right then, really, so long as he wasn't fighting to keep Dick away from the fucking awful blade.

*****Author's Note: **

Okay, I meant to post this chapter two weeks ago, but couldn't because it wasn't done and I've been in Japan for the last two weeks without my laptop. Before that, my life kinda went to hell. I had a series of bad moods, my dog died, and I got tangled up in some other personal life issues. I am working on the next chapter and hopefully that will be done sooner rather than later. I had my dog for over 13 years and it was extremely painful to lose her; my entire family couldn't stop crying.

I have my grandma's memorial next weekend, so I'm not sure if the next chapter will come out before or after that.

Oh, and this chapter is still kinda a mess, but I figured I'd just post the damn thing so I can sleep and work on getting over jet lag. The whole section about the anthropology class and what Wally learned actually came from a class I took at college. As for NASCAR and moonshine, that is also true (a friend of mine wrote a 20 page end of term paper and 15 minute presentation on that topic). The FMA Live-Action and E-Sport stuff was just a bit of a brain dump. Hopefully I didn't write anything offensive by accident as I know basically nothing about E-Sports and the opinion on FMA Live-Action movie is my own.

Hope you liked the chapter and please leave me some reviews!


	10. Part 9 - Dick

***Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters! I'm just being a horrible human being!**

**WARNINGS: THIS WORK WILL CONTAIN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SELF-HARM, SELF-HATRED, DESCRIPTION OF A SUICIDE, AND OTHER RELATED TOPICS. READ WITH CAUTION!**

**If ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ!**

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Dick knew what Wally was doing. It was painfully obvious to him. Then again, he'd been trained by the very best so Wally's rambles might've distracted any normal person.

Dick had accepted that he wasn't normal a long time ago. He'd grown up a circus freak, put on colorful spandex to fight crime before he'd even hit puberty, and had tried to live the slightly (very) self-destructive life of a police officer by day and a vigilante by night in Blüdhaven of all places.

So, yeah.

Not normal.

At all.

And that wasn't even taking into account all the heroes he'd met as Robin and Nightwing.

Despite all of this, Dick let Wally believe he was distracting him. Dick thought that he might be able to trick himself into being distracted if he tried hard enough. Granted, Wally had managed to make him laugh…

A minor miracle really; it had been far too long since he'd laughed at all and Dick internally winced. His laugh sounded rusty even to his own ears as if he hadn't spoken aloud in ages. Which, he mentally grimaced, wasn't an untrue comparison. He hadn't spoken much to anyone or anything recently; talking (if you could call it that) to Wally was the most verbal interaction he'd had with anyone in what felt like ages.

Like hell was he going to let the opportunity slip by. He was selfish and he couldn't bear to let this miracle escape his grasp. It was only a matter of time until Wally came back to his senses and left him alone in his apartment once again…

"... I mean seriously! The 2003 version's ending has so many problems it's not even funny!" Wally's exasperated voice drew Dick's attention back to the present and out of his own head.

Dick's lips twitched into what could be considered a smile as he refocused on Wally's words. Distantly, he thought that Wally and he had had this conversation ages ago; it had to have been before he'd left Robin behind in Gotham to become Nightwing.

"I don't think it's supposed to be funny," Dick found himself saying.

Wally hid a flinch, presumably surprised at the sound of Dick's voice. It wasn't something a normal person would pick up on, but it was blatantly obvious to Dick.

Sometimes, he really hated that he was raised by The World's Former Greatest Detective (they all knew Tim now held that title, not Bruce). In some ways, not knowing when people are trying to hide something or are lying to you is oddly freeing.

"I mean, the end of the 2003 anime ended with Ed-" Dick started to say before Wally cut him off.

"We shall not speak of it!" Wally declared dramatically, before finishing wrapping Dick's other ankle. "There, all done."

While Dick had noticed the purpose behind Wally's rambling, he'd forgotten what Wally had been distracting him from.

"...Thanks…" Dick murmured, the mood turning more awkward and depressing by the moment. He turned his head away from Wally, suddenly finding his very blank walls utterly fascinating.

Dick could hear Wally shifting his weight from foot-to-foot and tapping out an uneven rhythm on his right thigh. It was only because Dick had known Wally for so long that he'd picked up on that usually hidden nervous tick. Well, that and Dick had taught Wally how to hide that nervous tick years ago when he'd first become Kid Flash. Apparently, either Wally had gotten rusty in hiding that nervous tick or he was still comfortable around Dick to not worry about hiding it.

...or maybe something else entirely.

He internally scoffed at the two possibilities his brain had come up with. Dick had been thorough in teaching Wally how to hide that tick and there was no way Wally was comfortable around him now. Not after all he'd done. Wally was just patching him up because…

Well, he wasn't really sure why. Yeah, Wally had told him that he cared about Dick and didn't want him dead, but Dick couldn't find it in himself to believe that. Not yet at least.

"So, what now?" Wally asked, his voice quiet but still managed to reverberate throughout the room.

Sighing, Dick ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. "I don't know," he admitted, voice raw and exhausted. He didn't bother to meet Wally's gaze that was drilling into his skull.

"Okay."

Surprised, Dick couldn't help but turn his head to look at Wally. The red-head was nodding, none of the judgment Dick had expected to see was present on his face.

"...okay?" Dick asked, baffled.

"Yeah, because I don't know what to do either." Wally said with a weak grin, before adding on, "but I do know one thing for sure."

"What?" Dick warily asked.

"We should really get out of the bathroom, Dick, because there isn't enough room for us to hang out in here."

Wally's blunt words startled another laugh out of Dick that he couldn't seem to stop. After a moment, Wally's own laugh joined his own hysterical giggles in intensity; a muffled thump indicated that Wally had fallen down and had joined Dick on the tiled floor. They laughed, long and hard and if anyone were to come into Dick's apartment, they would've thought the two young men had been injected with Joker's laughing gas.

Slowly, Dick felt his hysterical laughter morph into sobs that he couldn't have stifled even if he'd tried. He jumped when Wally's strong arms pulled him into his lap for a tight embrace. In a sick parody of the earlier embrace they'd shared, Dick was now back in Wally's lap but now he was returning the hug with everything he had. They could've been laughing for hours, Dick wasn't sure, but eventually, their tears stopped and their sniffles faded.

Now, for the first time since Wally had burst into his apartment, the silence in his apartment wasn't suffocating. Tension lingered around its edges, but the choking stillness that had slowly strangled him had mostly vanished.

"Okay, now we should get up," Wally said with a smirk. He helped Dick to his feet, a steady pillar of both physical and emotional support. Slowly, the two trudged out of the bathroom and back into Dick's bedroom. Before Dick could turn to go sit down on his bed, Wally nudged him away from it and towards the doorway that led to the rest of the apartment. Dick was confused, but followed Wally's lead which led them out of his bedroom and into the living room where they slumped onto his couch. It wasn't the most comfortable piece of furniture, but to Dick, it was like stepping onto a cloud. Wally stood up after a few seconds as Dick settled himself onto the couch, walking over and shutting the front door. Dick could tell it had been forced open, presumably by Wally, but it miraculously could still shut.

Dick shot Wally a questioning look.

"How else was I supposed to get into your apartment?" Wally asked. Mild amusement could only vaguely cover the guilt in Wally's voice and Dick knew that said guilt wasn't over actually kicking the door down.

Dick snorted in amusement as Wally smirked and walked back over to the couch, seating himself right next to Dick, so close they were practically glued to each other's sides.

Any adrenaline that had been thrumming through Dick's system suddenly vanished, leaving the vigilante tired and sluggish. Against his consent, Dick's eyelids began to flutter shut. He didn't want to close his eyes. He didn't want to wake up, only to find this had all been a dream. He didn't think he could survive that. Honestly, Dick was still shocked he was alive at all.

Dick wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Go ahead Dick," Wally's soft voice pierced through his fading thoughts. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Dick wanted to respond, wanted to ask Wally to promise he'd still be there for Dick when, if, he woke up. But he didn't have the energy. As it was, he could only choke out, "Promise?".

His eyes were shut now, the last thing he heard before surrendering to the darkness was a faint "I promise," from his former friend.

No, maybe Wally wasn't a former friend.

Maybe, just maybe, Wally was still his friend.

Dick only hoped that was still the case.

*****Author's Note: **

I meant to post something weeks ago, but real life happened (a.k.a. I had an internship and I didn't want to risk this messing with my mood) so any progress on this got put on hold. I don't love this chapter, but I'm happy enough with it, hence it being posted at all.

I'm not sure when the next update will be because I go back to college relatively soon and it's my senior year. I generally know where I want this to go, but the finer details I'm still working out.

Anyway, I hope you like it!

Oh, and amazingly the chapters are getting longer! Yay!


	11. Hiatus Warning

I've been meaning to post this for a while, but life has been crazy these past few months.

This story is going on hiatus for a while and sadly I'm not sure when I'll pick it back up. I will eventually finish it, but for my only sake, I can't work on it right now.

If I work on this story now, I'll relapse which is something I'm trying to not do. I tried to work on this at the end of October/beginning of November and that combined with real-life stuff triggered a relapse. The end of January and all of February are danger zones for me and then over real-life stuff is happening. So, for my personal safety and well-being, this is going on hiatus.

Thank you all so much for your support and reviews of this story and I hope to post again soon!

~ Izzy


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